


All Aboard The (Trans) Hogwarts Express

by queercapwriting (queergirlwriting)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Agents of SHIELD Crossover, F/F, For reasons, M/M, Multi, Trans!Hermione, also, and even Peeves will fuck you up for being transphobic, and i might be forced by my irritating ass soul to do more of that??, and neville destroys tf out of the last horcrux like I TOO AM BOY MOTHERFUCKER, and neville pops out of nowhere with the motherfucking sword of motherfucking gryffindor, and these little nuggets wouldn't leave my head, anyway, anyway that's all, background dean/seamus because duh, basically we need as much trans harry potter content as possible, because like what if voldemort went after harry not neville, because reasons, because they're heading back to school, fast forward an entire ass war, harry potter x agents of shield, just when voldemort thinks he's won, nb!ginny, omg trans!neville is actually so important to me omg, re prophecy because he thought only harry was Boy, second chapter is an, the whole crew is pretty much here but tagging takes a long time, trans!Dean, trans!Fitz, trans!neville, where mcgonagall physically crushes anyone who gets in their way simply by LOOKING at them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queergirlwriting/pseuds/queercapwriting
Summary: Smol series in which some of my fav HP lovelies enjoy being fully themselves on the Hogwarts Express.Because we must trans HP out of pure queer spite.And because my trans ass can't help but thinking about the Hogwarts Express as the place where trans and enby kiddos YEET off their cloak of cisness and feel open and out.(also there's an Agents of SHIELD crossover because I'm trash and can't help myself)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

She’d had students with all kinds of genders, of course. It was that, among other reasons, that these past decades had found her arguing with the castle’s very bricks, swearing that she would find an enchantment to fix the stairs in the students’ dormitories to allow children like Remus and Molly to share dormitories with other students of their own gender if it killed her.

So, before she said the name on the scroll before her, she looked down at the first year whose long, curly hair had clearly just grown out in a hastily researched (but impressively well done) manner by the student’s own wand. She leaned down ever so slightly toward the child.

But the first year was clearly going to talk to her first. “Excuse me, Professor McGonagall. I believe my name is next in alphabetical order on your scroll, and I know that the last name is right, but I doubt very much that the first name is accurate.”

Minerva hid a smile from her lips, but not from her eyes – an expression she’d spent years perfecting with her students – and she nodded. Yes, this girl definitely had just grown her hair out, probably on the Hogwarts Express, with her own spell. Or just sheer willpower.

But Minerva McGonagall didn’t play favorites. So she nodded, somewhat grave and somewhat assuring. “And why would I have the incorrect name? Are you suggesting perhaps that your parents sent inaccurate information to the school? It happens more often than you’d expect.”

She hoped the child understood the implication – that she would not be alone, not here at Hogwarts – and sure enough, the girl’s eyes glistened. But only for a moment.

“My parents didn’t mind my turning out to have magic. They loved it, really. They were so excited to have a young wizard in the house, that was easy for them. But you see, Professor McGonagall…”

The girl blinked, just for a moment, fear shining out from behind the cloud of her confidence.

“It was easy for them to accept that their child had magic like a wizard; but they have a harder time accepting that their child is a witch.”

Another nod, crisper, this time, her initial assessment of the first year confirmed. “Well, go on then young lady, tell me the proper name to put on all the school’s papers.”

Minerva let the smile reach her lips this time – just slightly. Nothing over the top, of course.

But the girl’s smile was brighter than any Minerva had seen in quite some time, and she was reminded once again of how very much she loved these students.

“Hermione, Professor McGonagall. My name is Hermione Granger.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crossover with Agents of SHIELD, in which the Bus Kids (AKA my ot3) board the Hogwarts Express and Jemma helps a baby trans Fitz cut his hair for the first time.

Underage wizards weren’t allowed to use magic outside of school grounds.

And Leo Fitz was underage, sure, but he was definitely a wizard, not a Squib and not a witch. (There’s nothing wrong with being a Squib or a witch, he’d scrawled in his journal, sideways and scrappy alongside his endless notes on wand theory. I’m just not either of those things, no matter what Father says.)

He checked again for the Hogwarts letter in his back pocket - he’d kept it close just in case someone at the gates of the castle believed his father, believed that he wasn’t worthy of studying at such a fine institution. He took comfort in the weight of it, the thickness of the parchment, the way that the letter had said “Mr. Fitz,” like somehow at the castle, they already knew. 

He hoped the letter itself wasn’t an elaborate plot to humiliate him. That always seemed possible, with his father.

But here he was anyway, on the Hogwarts Express. Leaving London and leaving his father, finally, in search of freedom at the castle he’d always longed to see.

Other students, even first years like him, were tracking through the corridors, casting little spells with their wands as they dodged each other and tried not to slam into the snack trolley.

But he couldn’t do what they were doing - he couldn’t risk casting a spell outside of school. What if he got caught and somehow Father found out? He could not risk giving anyone an excuse to take him away from Hogwarts before he even had the chance to bring his trunk off the train. 

So he kept his wand in his pocket, and brought out a pair of scissors instead. He’d worked hard to find an empty compartment, and as he settled in, his heart raced. He fogged the window with his breath and polishes it with the edge of his sleeve. Even that little motion screamed of a rebellion that Father would never approve of. 

He stared at his reflection, squinting just right so he could focus on his own face as the countryside speeds by. He took a deep breath and raised shaking fingers to his ponytail. He raised the scissors, opened them, and slowly started to close them around his hair.

“Excuse me,” a voice called as the compartment door slides open. “Can my friend and I sit in here? She’s had a run in with Grant Ward, and landed quite an impressive hex on him, but her bad girl shenanegins can get her into quite a bit of trouble if -- oh, are you cutting your hair?”

The girl was balancing at least six textbooks in her arms. The girl’s friend -- the one who had hexed the infamous Slytherin, apparently -- poked her head in behind Book Girl, feigning guilt but looking pretty pleased with herself. He watched her assess him as he slid a Muggle cell phone into her pocket.

“Oh, um. Yes.” He tried to deepen his voice as much as he could. But all he could hear was squeaking. He prepared himself for these girls to laugh and laugh and laugh at him, to point and giggle and torment and --

“What’s your name?” the girl’s friend asked. Her American accent surprised him, but she plopped down next to him like she didn’t have a care in the world. “I’m Skye.”

“Um, Fitz. Um, Leo. Leo Fitz.”

His stomach swirled with terror -- this was the first time the name had left his lips to another human being, and anything could happen now. Especially since this Skye girl was apparently good at casting hexes.

“Nice to meet you, Leo Fitz.” The girl with all the books tried to shake his hand, promptly spilling the books out of her arms. Skye caught them easily, chuckling -- but not, Fitz noted, laughing at the other girl -- as she rearranged them next to her. 

He shook the girl’s hand wordlessly. “I’m Jemma. Jemma Simmons. And I’m sure you know what you’re doing with those scissors, but if you’d like, I’d be happy to cut your hair with a little more...” She glanced at the scissors, then at her wand. “Precision. Not that you should have any reason to trust me with something as important as your hair cut, but I have been doing a lot of reading and I’m sure I’ll be able to make it look very nice.”

“Oh. Oh.” This girl, Jemma, and her friend Skye were being... so nice to him. He waited for the shoe to drop. He tried to speak. “Well, I don’t want to impose -”

“It’s not an imposition if she offers, silly,” Skye said, bumping her shoulder into his. Like they could be friends. Like she wanted to be friends. And Jemma just nodded eagerly, all wide eyes and pretty blue headband.

“Well, I mean, alright then. If that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay, Leo,” Jemma said, nodding like she knew. Like she knew exactly why he was cutting his hair all alone on the Hogwarts Express in pants and a shirt that he knew he looked absurdly uncomfortable in... but he didn’t have anything else. Not yet. He’d been hoping his robes would help with all that.

She cleared her throat with a blush and scooted close to him. Skye smiled as Jemma nodded to herself, probably calling to mind a whole mess of knowledge from those books she’d been carrying. 

He wondered if she and Skye like spell theory and arithmancy, too.

As if in answer to his question, Skye sifted through the books to find an arithmancy volume that Fitz himself had been studying every night since his trip to Diagon Alley. She opened it and started reading with a casual smile at him. Like she didn’t want him to feel like he was being stared at. Like it was normal to be... who he was.

Jemma’s spell work was so crisp that he didn’t even need to clean up his hair -- it just sort of evaporated into the air around them as she cut it with her wand.

“You know,” she said as tears starting stinging his eyes. Skye didn’t take her eyes off her book, looking at her Muggle phone with one hand and comparing whatever was on the screen to what was in the textbook. But she reached out her other hand to squeeze his knee. He took her hand and squeezed back.

“Skye’s friends Mack and Trip have some sweaters and pants and things that they probably don’t need anymore,” Jemma continued. “If you’d like to get changed before we get to the castle. Not that you don’t look lovely now! But, if, you know, you’d like to be more comfortable.”

“And if you’re a Gryffindor, he can give you an awesome tour of the boy’s dormitories,” Skye said, still squeezing his hand.

“And if you’re not a Gryffindor, we’ll make sure that Trip or Hunter or Phil show you around.”

“I... Yes. Yes please.”

His father’s voice in his head told him he needed to find more articulate words. But his new friends smiled like they understood him completely.

“All done! I can make any adjustments if you don’t like it, or -”

“No. No, I love it,” Fitz whispered as he stared at himself in the window. His hair was mostly gone except for the smattering of curls that his mother had loved so much, and he looked... like himself. He looked like himself.

He ran a hand over the back of his head -- he could feel the back of his head for the first time, and it was absolutely miraculous. 

He trembled. Something else his father would disapprove of.

“I love it. But I... I don’t look ridiculous?” His father’s voice, just once more.

“No,” Jemma and Skye said at the same time.

“You look baller,” Skye said.

“Quite dashing,” Jemma blushed.

“Well, good. I love it. Thank you. Thank you.”

He didn’t know what else to say. Jemma was blushing, he was pretty sure he was blushing, and Skye looked positively thrilled, but she also wasn’t saying anything.

He cleared his throat.

“So Jemma’s all into becoming a healer, and that’s cool, but I think I’ll figure out something to do with arithmancy,” Skye said. “What about you, Leo Fitz?”

“Both of those are great. But I also love astronomy. I heard Hogwarts has an amazing -”

“Astronomy Tower, yes! With a perfect view of -”

“The constellation Theta Serpentis -”

“Which has my favorite star -”

“Alya!” 

“Alya!”

The three of them paused and then burst into giggles.

So this was what it was like to find family.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nb!Ginny - ft. Arnold the pygmy puff and trans!Neville.

“You did _what_.” Ron said it more like a statement than a question, but Ginny’s eyes remained steel. Of course they did.

“I told Mum and Dad that I’m nonbinary right before we got on the train,” they said again, slowing their words down like they were talking to a slew of younger brothers, not older ones.

Ron’s gaze shifted quickly to Fred and George, who were already nodding gravely, waiting for Ginny to say more.

“And?” Hermione asked, her fingers interlacing with theirs. Despite all appearances, Hermione wasn’t quite as patient as the twins. “What did they say?”

Ginny’s eyes clouded over, but only for a moment. Harry, Neville, and Luna watched, waiting, none of them caring that they were spilling out of their compartment and completely blocking the train’s corridor.

“They didn’t say anything,” Ginny said. “Dad... Dad hugged me, before I got on. But Mum just. Didn’t say anything.”

“Your parents always wanted a girl,” Luna said sagely, her gaze calm, steadying. Ginny nodded as Ron squeezed their shoulder. Fred and George looked mutinous.

“They did. And now they’ll have to deal with me.” There was only challenge, not self-doubt, in their voice.

“You don’t have to be tough for us, Ginny,” Neville said. He was stroking Trevor’s head with his forefinger, and offered him to Ginny to hold. They took him and raised his little face up to reunite with Arnold. Their pygmy puff was resting, as always, on their shoulder.

It took them a moment, but they sighed and let tears shine in their eyes. Just for a moment. “I know I don’t,” they murmured.

“That’s the most vulnerable we’re going to get out of them right now.” Ginny glared at Hermione’s observation, but their lips twitched into something like a smile.

“Your dad hugged you, though,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” they said. “And I guess... I dunno, Bill and Charlie said to tell them when they wouldn’t have an opportunity to react in front of me.” They put on their best Bill impression, which basically included dropping their voice seven octaves. “ _Their reaction isn’t your problem or your fault, Gin, and you shouldn’t have to deal with it_.”

“That sounds exactly like our dear eldest brother,” Fred nodded.

“Excuse me, excuse me! Idling about in the corridors, there are plenty of open compartments - oh! Ginny.”

Percy came to a halt in front of their group, all wide eyes and wild hair, his familiar Head Boy’s gleam in his eyes.

“This just arrived for you. Poor owl must have used all his energy to catch the train, and then to poke at the windows... I think it’s from Mum and Dad. You told them, didn’t you?”

“No, Perce, Mum and Dad always send urgent owls to the Hogwarts Express. Just for fun, you know.”

Percy scowled, but his eyes were on Ginny as he passed them the envelope, slightly crinkled from flight.

“Well, it’s not a Howler,” they murmured.

“Do you want me to read it for you?” Hermione offered. Ginny shook their head and passed Trevor to Ron silently. He looked slightly alarmed, but passed the toad back to Neville without complaint.

Ginny drew a deep breath before tearing the envelope open in one jagged movement. “Just like ripping off the gauze pad,” their dad would say.

They forced themself to read the damn thing before they wrenched open a window and tossed it back into the wind.

_Ginny dearest,_

  
_Your father and I want to apologize for our behavior at Platform 9 3/4. We were surprised, to be sure, but then again, we were surprised when Bill became a cursebreaker. We always thought he’d be something a little more... straight-laced._

  
_But I’m avoiding the point._

  
_You are our child, and we are so glad you told us. I don’t want you to worry about your father and I wishing we had a girl - we have you, and you are more brilliant than we ever could have expected of any child._

  
“She’s not wrong,” George said, reading over his sibling’s shoulder. “We’re all disappointing failures. Except you, Perce.”

_We will start using your pronouns immediately, of course. Would you like us to tell the family, or would you like to do that? We’ll take care of Auntie Muriel, unless you’d like to see her face when you tell her. Your father certainly would - perhaps over Christmas holidays._

  
_Let us know if you need anything at all. New clothes, perhaps, or if you’re thinking of changing your name. I’m sure your father will have suggestions._

  
_We love you, always and without conditions. We are so proud of you, our sweet child._

  
_Love, Love, Love,_   
_Mum and Dad_

  
“Well?” Neville asked, his voice soft, his hands ready to pass Trevor back in case Ginny needed more comfort. “Were they alright about it? If not, Gran can have a talk with them about what it was like when I came out. Set them straight, so to speak. And you know how terrifying Gran’s talks can be.”

“You don’t need to sic your gran on them, Neville. Thank you, though. They said… they said they love me, and that they don’t care that I’m not a girl seeing as I’m so much more brilliant than all my brothers combined.”

“I don’t know if that’s exactly what they said –“ Hermione glanced apologetically at Ron. But he just shrugged, his smile spreading across his entire face as he enveloped Ginny in a tight hug.

“They’re not wrong. I’m proud of you, Gin.”

“We all are,” Fred tousled Ginny’s hair. “But let them _breathe_ , Ron, for Merlin’s sake.”

Ron muttered something about where Fred could stick his wand.

Ginny read their parent’s note over and over and over again, their chest unconstructed for the first time in too long, as the train chugged toward school and their friends congratulated them and tried to figure out, once and for all, what the hell wrackspurts are.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny helps Hermione do her hair once it's finally as long as she'd always wanted it to be. 
> 
> Ft. McGonagall 
> 
> Also the tags from tumbls are like, half of the fic.
> 
> #mcgonagall learning to do all kinds of hair because so many students don't know how to work with their own hair slash#have only ever done it with their parents at home#so she'll just like#sometimes come into the common rooms of different houses and sit on an armchair in front of the fire or a window#and the kid will sit on the floor in front of her and she'll just absently quiz them on transfiguration while she twists out their hair#and of course she teaches them how to do it#and teaches their friends what she's doing so they can help#of course there are ways to do all this with magic#and she teaches them that too#but there's something about the intimacy of doing someone's hair and having someone do your hair#that like#she wants her students to be able to feel#anyway

There are very few things that Hermione Granger isn’t good at.

Flying is one of them. 

It’s hard to fly when you’re always so focused on keeping your feet firmly on the ground.

Casting a Patronus is another one.

It’s hard to find hope when your anxiety gets in the way all the time.

And, despite a summer frantically researching and watching videos on YouTube - which Ron still is utterly baffled by, despite Hermione and Harry’s best efforts to explain - she can’t quite get the knack for doing her own hair.

Her mother helps, and her father, too. They’re dentists - their fingers are skilled and since the day Hermione told them that they had a daughter, and she wanted to grow her hair out, they’d made it their mission to learn how to twist her hair out and crochet it and any and every style she’d always wanted to have.

But her fingers are skilled with a wand and the pages of a book. She still fumbles with her own hair

A few weeks after school starts again, Ginny sits on the edge of her bed and stares at her.

“You’re going to need to take your twists out soon,” she says, calm and casual and making sure Hermione doesn’t think she’s telling her she looks bad. She doesn’t.

But when Hermione mentioned (for half an entire parchment) in one of their weekly summer letters that she was frantically trying to learn what to do with her hair now that it was finally as long as she wanted it to be for the first time in her life... well, Ginny had spent the entire summer doing research, too.

So, she tapped on the floor in front of her, motioning for Hermione to sit between her legs. “We can do it now, if you’d like. I asked Fred and George to send me some jojoba oil and other stuff I figured you might need.”

She dug into a bag she’d hapharzardly shoved into her trunk - which was haphazardly shoved under her bed - and used her wand to arrange everything out, spray bottles included, on the floor in front of her.

Hermione did not cry. She did not cry. She did not cry.

(She cried. She had felt loved, so loved, when she came out last year and Harry had done nothing but hug her and Ron had congratulated her and Hagrid had whisked her up in his arms and told her that Hermione was a beautiful name, and Luna had woven her a crown of flowers. And now, this? She definitely cried.)

But an hour and a half later, she wasn’t the only one.

Ginny had gotten the twists out of Hermione’s hair, learned the marvels of a wide-toothed comb, and done a decent enough job oiling her scalp and roots. But when it came to trying to retwist them - because Hermione wanted to keep the style, but they’d started to come loose - she was utterly failing.

Ginny had done all the research she could, but her, her mother’s, and Bill’s hair were all too thin to properly practice on (she’d tried).

And, just like Hermione, Ginny was pretty used to getting things right on the first try.

That was when McGonagall came to the rescue.

“Professor, how did you -?” Ginny started to ask when McGonagall appeared at the foot of the dormitory stairs, asking Ginny and Hermione to bring their supplies down to the common room.

“The castle walls themselves could feel your frustration, Ms. Weasley, and heavens knows that Ms. Granger doesn’t need the added stress.” 

But her smile was obvious.

“You... know how to help Ginny with my hair, Professor?” Hermione asked as she and Ginny levitated their supplies down to the common room, mostly deserted at this hour.

McGonagall, in her nightgown and cap, nodded efficiently and conjured up a pillow for Hermione to sit on on the floor in front of her.

“I can transform myself into a cat and back in the blink of an eye, Ms. Granger. Black hair care may be an art, but I like to think I am a worthy artist.”

Hermione’s eyes sparkled. She knew Professor McGonagall used everyone’s last names, Mr. this and Ms. that and Mx. the other. But she always felt the added weight of eye contact, of beautiful significance, whenever her teacher called her Ms. Granger.

She settled quietly in front of her.

“Come closer, Ms. Weasley, so I can teach you. I can’t swoop down to the tower every time Ms. Granger’s hair needs touching up.”

It still took a couple of hours - “you can speed it up with magic, of course, but you’ll be able to guide the spells best when you can also create the desired style with your own fingers” - but by the time two in the morning rolled around, Hermione’s hair was all twisted out, even tighter than her and her mother had been able to do. 

A few twists were loose and a bit bumpy in the back - Ginny was, indeed, still learning - but her effort made Hermione’s heart flutter.

She allowed herself to wonder, only briefly, if Ginny might be into girls.

“Thank you, Professor,” she said softly, touching her curls gingerly in the mirror McGonagall had conjured for her.

“My pleasure, Ms. Granger. Now both of you, go on to bed.” Her eyes locked onto Ginny. “I appreciate your friendship to Ms. Granger, Ms. Weasley, and I’m awarding ten points to Gryffindor for your efforts. However. Those points will be taken away should I find that your Transfiguration essay tomorrow is less than what I know you’re capable of producing.”

“That’s due tomorrow?” 

Hermione laughed, and even Professor McGonagall let the ghost of a smile cross her lips.

“Come on, Ginny,” Hermione sighed, her entire body buzzing with contentment, with gender euphoria, not a single cell in her body tired. She settled back into the armchair Professor McGonagall had just vacated, “let’s get your essay done.”

When Harry came downstairs a few hours later, hoping to sneak off to the Quidditch pitch to get some flying in before breakfast, Hermione was fast asleep in Ginny’s lap. Both of them were curled up by the dying fire, parchment all around them.

He smiled and bent gently to adjust Hermione’s head scarf, which had come all askew in sleep.

He wondered, still smiling as he tiptoed past two of his best friends, if they knew they were falling in love.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean teaches Neville how to dance. Both boys are trans and there is Wholesomeness.
> 
> Background Dean/Seamus, obviously.

He’d known how to dance for what felt like his whole life. His gran had made sure of that.

Of course, all her lessons and insistence that “young ladies need to know how to handle themselves at balls and other functions” didn’t mean he was any good at dancing.

It just meant that his brain knew how. His body... not so much.

And now that he’d come out, everything was backward. Sure, he could be a boy and follow someone else’s lead while dancing. But he wanted to learn how to lead. 

“It’s not that I want to uphold heteronormative standards,” he explained to Seamus, his hands all caught up in his hair in agony. “It’s just that Gran taught me how to follow, not lead, and the Yule Ball is coming up, and she got me these fancy new men’s dress robes and I love them, but I want to feel worthy of wearing them, and -”

“And you don’t know how to lead,” Dean said from behind a bookcase.

Seamus started to aim a hex at him before realizing who it was.

“Blimey, Dean, you can’t just pop up out of nowhere like that.” He scowled at his boyfriend, but there was a smile in his glare.

“Apparently, I can, because I just did,” Dean said, clearly pleased with himself. He leaned down to give Seamus a small kiss. Neville’s face burned, but he still smiled as he looked away.

“Do you know how to dance, Dean? Can you show me? For the Ball?”

Dean glanced at Madam Pince, who was watching them all with narrowed eyes. 

“It just so happens that I can. But not here.” He lowered his voice and leaned into Neville and Seamus conspiratorially. “Pince might murder us, and how will we dance when we’re dead?”

“Don’t ask Nick that question,” Seamus muttered as they gathered their things and tiptoed out of the library before a severe case of the giggles overtook them.

They trooped up to the Gryffindor common room, dumping their bags unceremoniously in front of the fireplace. 

“Alright, so,” Dean said. He cleared his throat and stared down the small group of sixth years that had given him a problem when he had come out. He, Seamus, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Ron - well, everyone, really, with Fred and George really stepping up their Puking Pastilles game to lead the charge - had made sure they didn’t so much as look at Neville the wrong way when he, too, came out.

“One hand here,” Dean said without preamble, taking Neville’s hand into his own and cupping them together just so. “And then one hand on my waist.”

“Your waist?” Neville’s eyes grew wide.

“Don’t worry, Longbottom, he’s giving consent and I promise I won’t hex you for touching my boyfriend’s rather excellent waist,” Seamus said. 

Hermione snorted from a corner. All three boys jumped - they hadn’t seen her behind her massive pile of books.

“Okay,” Neville said. He’d put his hand on Dean’s waist, comforted by the solid fabric of his binder underneath his shirt.

I know there are wizarding ways of doing it, Dean had told him once. But the Muggle way just feels right for me sometimes, you know?  
“Now what?”

“Now,” Dean said, his eyes sparkling. “We waltz.”


End file.
